


Knives

by Angelwire



Series: From Artifice [2]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: Action, Blood and Injury, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21664204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelwire/pseuds/Angelwire
Summary: Both from without and within, your skin is threatened by knives. This is just the first time you've shown the other side of that fact.With her, maybe it'll be worth it. Maybe she'll understand you. You do have some things in common, after all...
Series: From Artifice [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1499456
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Knives

The warning signals in your mind scream 'get down!' a scant fraction of a second before the sound of rent metal pierces the air. Right where your head used to be, three twisted shards of steel embed themselves into the wall, uncannily accurate. Seems like your position has been compromised. How could he possibly have found you?

"I know you're there, kid!" the villain's masculine voice taunts you.

Ignoring him for the moment, you pick yourself up again and begin moving along the wall, keeping a mental eye out for his next attack. You and Anathema were hoping to be able to buy more time than this. She's not in position, and Sentinel won't be here for at least another twenty minutes. No backup coming to pull your ass out of this one. If nothing else, you count yourself grateful that he's focusing his attention on you; if Anathema can get the drop on him, it's game over. That's a _big_ if, though, depending on exactly what the villain used to spot you whilst completely hidden and immobile.

More ear-splitting screeches of metal. More impacts resonating through the building. Not attacking you, though - his intent to catch up pours through loud and clear. A glance out the window confirms it.

_Using those spikes as a staircase?!_ you think to yourself as his plan registers in full. He's trying to eliminate your window of time for dodging! Anathema should still be on the other side of the street, too, though you're too distracted to properly check for her at the moment. Bolting away from the wall, you head further inward, cursing the poor environment each time you spot more fuel for his magnetic powers. Of course they'd have to use desks with metal legs and supports rather than good old-fashioned wood, of course!

"You're giving off way too much heat, you know!" your opponent chastises you loudly, already having reached your floor. "The more you run, the better I can see you!"

So that thing on his face wasn't just for show. Another of Tech Head's devices? Thermal imaging? Before you can begin pondering exactly how a sensor like that must work (as if you had much of a chance of figuring out anyways), the ensuing cacophony snaps your thoughts back to this present predicament. The still-unnamed villain is far too close for comfort now, and he's accumulating as much ammunition as he can, all to skewer you five ways to Sunday. You can read his decision and his intended firing angle before he acts, but at this distance, is it fast enough?

Time to figure that one out.

Another rod of mangled metal digs deep into the floor right by your feet, a successful dodge. The villain's thoughts remain unconcerned as he preps his next projectile, keeping the rest of the material orbiting bizarrely around his body. That shield was the worst part. You couldn't take him down if you could neither shoot nor get close. Gritting your teeth, you keep moving. Keep buying time.

The sight of the fire escape door gives you a moment of hope. _Too much metal there, so I'll need to jump, but-_

The handle, the all-too-unfortunately metal handle, wrenches from its place and slams into your gut as you approach, knocking the wind out of you. The pain doubles you over. Your legs refuse to budge, even as you mentally urge them forward. He's getting closer. He's getting closer, _fuck he's getting closer_ \- each step registers plainly in your terrified mind. And in his... he thinks he's got you.

His next attack slashes the side of your shoulder, intentionally missing a vital area. You hold down the scream building up in your lungs. Just as you stagger to the side, twist your body to try facing him, another improvised blade streaks through the air and embeds itself in your forearm. This time, you can't stop yourself from vocalizing the pain.

"Now _that's_ what I was hoping to hear~"

" _F-fuck_ _you_ ," you spit defiantly. The attempt at ruining his satisfaction does nothing but egg him on.

Another blade, your other forearm. Another scream. The blood drips audibly from your wounds to the thin carpet below.

"Looks like that cheap costume just isn't cutting it, eh kiddo?" he continues. The bastard is smart, too, keeping his distance and his shield up. "My knives aren't blunt enough to be stopped by that sort of plebeian trash."

"Quite the ego you have there, for some no-name upstart," you retort. The words ping annoyingly in his head, just as you were hoping for.

"You really shouldn't aggravate me, _girl_. Or do you want to die even more painfully?"

All bluster. The man's at least a bit sadistic, but it's getting to him far more than he's trying to let on. Thinks he has some sort of big destiny, does he? For the moment, he still has no intentions of finishing you off, though, and that's his current weakness. He wants to get you to acknowledge him first. Perfect. Plenty to work with.

You grin mockingly, the expression not quite coming through beneath the mask. "I've had worse papercuts before. Guess I should up my budget for the future, though - I just usually don't need much more than my fists to put losers with big heads like you-"

The man readies another attack, but this time your legs are working properly again. Twisting just a hair's breadth out of the way keeps your good shoulder intact as a substantial rod of mixed metals sinks through the door, knocking it entirely off its hinges. Jesus. He's really getting pissed off, isn't he?

Just like you want.

Because you can feel the blaze of Anathema's mind approaching rapidly.

"I was thinking to let you walk out of here with just a few of those 'papercuts' so you could herald the start of my career, but I've changed my mind." The various scraps of metal forming his shield coalesce into four wicked stakes, all aimed at you. "You're the type of person who simply needs to shut up and die."

"Oh? What about her, then?"

Before he can even decide whether to put any stock in your 'obvious' distraction attempt, a wide, thin film of acid spreads to coat him. He growls furiously. Not enough to do more than burn, and thankfully his eyes are more protected than the rest, but it does firmly plant his attention on the newly arrived Anathema. His previous weapons turn to level themselves against her, instead of you.

That's when you grit through the pain of moving your injured arm to pull out your energy caster. And pull the trigger on his defenseless form.

The unnamed villain topples over, firmly unconscious, and a moment later, all the accumulated metal clatters uselessly to the floor.

"Sidestep!"

A twinge of agony rockets up your bicep not a second later, and you drop your weapon in obedience to it. Anathema is already rushing over to you. Wow, she's really, genuinely concerned, isn't she? You barely register it in your knees as they impact the ground, though you _do_ feel the reverberation in your shoulder. Before you can slump over any further (since when did you feel so lightheaded?), Anathema's hands hold you steady.

"Sidestep, you good? You're still with me, right?"

"Yeah, I'm real good," you manage a wry smile. "Just bleeding out a little."

With Anathema's help, you end up resting against an undamaged wall as she takes to looking you over. The scrutiny is uncomfortable. More than that, with Ortega's words from a couple weeks ago bouncing around your head, the presence of your mask is beginning to feel like an insult. Thankfully, Anathema speaks up again before you can dwell too much on that.

"Your shoulder looks like we can bandage it up, but-... I really think we need to get you to a hospital, Sidestep."

"No," your voice is firm, "no hospitals. I'm- I'll figure something out."

"Figure something out? Nuh uh. No way. I already have the police and an ambulance on the way; called 'em just in case."

"Just- just bandage me up, for fuck's sake," you plead. The wounds are open, bare after the 'knives' fell out. Your first aid supplies should have been sufficient. Really, if not for the fact that both arms were injured like this, you'd do it yourself, but... well, everyone needs to rely on someone else sometimes. Even if the entire situation is making you sick to your stomach.

Anathema, for the moment, complies, fishing out your first aid kit under your instructions.

"Mind if I pull your gloves off?"

The request sends a chill down your spine, but you manage to not freak out in her face. Remember, they don't go up all the way. You'll be fine. She won't see, you'll make sure she doesn't see.

"S-sure, um- just the gloves, okay? Don't get near the elbow." It worries you how much that request sounds like begging. "And, uh... one more thing."

"What's that?"

"Can you pull up my... my mask? It's getting harder to breathe in it."

Anathema dutifully removes both your mask and gloves, knowing the entire while what the former signifies. Your sweaty, matted hair must not have looked very good, but she doesn't make any comments about it, instead tending to your wounds as best she can. See? She's seen your face, and the world hasn't ended. You're alright. A sigh of relief escapes your lips as that knowledge sets in. You're _alright_. As long as you get it back on before the police arrive, nothing will-

"Can I ask something kinda personal, here?"

"Eh?" You look down, trace the edges of her fingers where they meet your skin, and realize far too late the part of yourself you probably should have kept hidden.

"What are these scars from? If you're comfortable telling me."

You can't bring yourself to speak. Not for a solid few seconds, at least. Not until you swallow the lump in your throat and forcibly calm your nerves by reminding yourself that this is supposed to be... the closest thing you have to a teammate. Her and Charge and the other Rangers. She's supposed to be your ally. Your... friend?

Are you friends?

She certainly seems to care, every chance you give her. She seems to like you well enough. What more constituted friendship?

Trust. Trust like you showed when you let her reveal your face, just now.

"I've... not always been in a good headspace," you admit.

"Yeah, I know how that is."

"You do?"

Anathema's fingers deftly finalize the knot holding your right arm's bandage in place. "Did Charge ever tell you? About me?"

"Um... not really," you think back to your interactions with her before answering. Nothing comes to mind. "That would have been rude, I assume. And I don't want to pry." You smirk to yourself. "Though I guess Ortega wouldn't have cared about prying like that."

"Oh she's not all that bad," she chuckles. "I mean, I like being on her team plenty."

"And I like being... team-adjacent?"

"I definitely think you count, even if unofficially."

"Thanks, Anathema." You mean it.


End file.
